


Not Until You Learn to Dance

by JasmineRosalie



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Canon Compliant, Dancing, Dimitry pov, F/M, Gen, In which the author uses her past as a ballroom dance instructor, Poor Vlad, Vlad forces them to dance, he didn't ask for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 19:26:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13958376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasmineRosalie/pseuds/JasmineRosalie
Summary: “You’re a terrible dancer.” Anya stated.Dimitry scowled. “Perhaps you’d like to dance alone, instead.”“Anything would be better than dancing with you!”~Vlad teaches Anya and Dimitry to waltz. They haven't gotten very far, and he's already developing an ulcer.





	Not Until You Learn to Dance

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as romance or as Deep Friend Feels, for all of you who prefer Gen fic over ships.
> 
> I wanted to take a closer look at the dance scene in Learn To Do It, since that's the first time that Dimitry and Anya really get along. And, from Vlad's point of view, it is the beginning of the end for them.
> 
> Eternal thanks to [ Lydia (marienikolaevnas)](http://marienikolaevnas.tumblr.com) for being supportive and kind and encouraging me to not only write, but finish this project.

“No, no, no, _no!_ ” Vlad cried, dismayed. “We will never convince _anyone_ if you dance like that. Anya, _darling,_ you are not to be the lead in this dance. In this, the man must lead.” He gestured expansively towards Dimitry, who did not appreciate so much pressure being put on him.

Anya huffed. “I would happily follow, if I trusted him not to _step on my feet_ again _.”_ She leveled a glare at her dance partner.

Vlad sighed. “There are worse things than being stepped on, Anya. And you cannot learn to dance until you learn to _trust._ Now,” he moved across the space so that he was in line with Dimitry, and addressed him directly “that means that you, my friend, must be _trustworthy._ Take extra care, and be aware of where your feet lay.”

“She _kicked me!_ ” Dimitry protested. “Aren’t you going to scold _her_ for that?” That wasn’t fair. Vlad leveled a look at him that spoke volumes. Anya just grinned. _Brat._

Dimitry sighed. It seemed like he was doing that a lot lately. Vlad bid them to begin again, this time marking each step as it happened and frequently having them pause and check their posture. The going was so slow and so repetitive that a muscle in Dimitry’s calf had started to feel tight and painful. He certainly wasn’t going to complain, however. Their little Grand Duchess in the making already had plenty of ammunition for ridicule, and he didn’t relish the thought of giving her anything more. Besides, she didn’t seem to be tiring, and he was determined to stick this out as long as she did.

Dimitry shot her a glance as they changed the basic box step into what Vlad called an _Open Box._ It required practically the same footwork as the regular movement, but it brought them into a quarter turn every few beats. She looked… intense. Bright blue eyes were narrowed, and he noticed the way that her teeth gnawed on her bottom lip. Having been an avid student these past weeks of everything that was Anya, he knew that that meant both focus and frustration.

They had been at this for ages now. Dimitry pulled her a little closer at Vlad’s insistence. _(“Dimitry, you must hold her, not just rest your hands on her. Bring her in. Hand higher, yes! Very good!”)_ Their faces were a mere few inches apart, but Anya kept her gaze fixed at a point above Dimitry’s shoulder, as the formal dance required. That gave him a rare close look at the person he was betting everything on. Could they really pull this off? Could this ratty street sweeper really turn into an Anastasia believable enough to fool her own grandmother? Sure, she’d shown a few moments of brilliance, but they were few and far-between, especially considering how little time they had and how far she still had to go. It seemed impossible, but they didn’t have another choice.

Dimitry’s feet fell into rhythm with Vlad’s counting while he studied her _(“Finally! That’s it Dimitry!”)_ Supposedly, he was watching her to make sure she didn’t make any sudden movements (like kicking him again). But she didn’t seem so inclined anymore. Even so, he kept a close watch on her face. Her skin was clear and clean of most of the day’s dirt. She had access to clean water here at the Yusupov palace, and she’d taken to rinsing her face after each shift out on the streets. She was very pale, enough that even Dimitry’s light skin looked tan against hers. And she had freckles, he noted. Only a few, scattered across her nose and cheeks. It was as if someone had painted each one on individually, like she was some sort of porcelain doll. When he’d seen her the first time, not much had been visible under all of her layers of wool and dirt and grime. Just blonde hair that shone red when the light hit it, and eyes the most distinctive blue he’d ever seen.

Those eyes were practically glaring into the distance. Why was she always so serious? It seemed like every time Dimitry tried to joke with her, to banter like he did with Vlad, she just glared at him or huffed and looked away. He’d always thought he could get along with most anyone. You had to, if you wanted to survive on the streets. Likeable Dimitry was always willing to help you get what you needed. He became someone new for every person he ran with, or did business with. Only with Vlad was he anything that resembled himself. Maybe that’s why Anya didn’t like him. She saw him around Vlad, being himself. He knew that person wasn’t very likeable, but it didn’t account for her practically _hating_ him… did it?

It didn’t matter. This was a job. A very complicated one that could possibly end with all of them being brutally killed in front of a Bolshevik firing squad. But it could also end with Vlad and him getting absolutely rich, and out of Russia for good. That was worth it, to him. It would just be a lot _easier_ if the person the job revolved around didn’t seem to dislike the very air he breathed.

Vlad finally called them to a halt, too frustrated and exhausted to continue giving them the same critiques over and over. “ _Stop leading the movements, Anya”_ and _“Keep your arms up, Dimitry”_ and _“Stand up straight, both of you!”_ had been nearly constantly cycled through in the last hour and a half. Dimitry stumbled over to the single couch in the private auditorium and collapsed on it. For all of the running and climbing he’d done in his life, this really was more exhausting than he expected.

He didn’t fit on the couch. He didn’t fit on _any_ couch. But that wasn’t about to stop him. Legs bent at awkward angles, Dimitry moved in place, scooting this way and that until he was comfortable enough. Anya was trying to touch her toes several feet away, seemingly attempting to stretch out the same muscle that was bothering Dimitry. A good idea, probably, but he really couldn’t be bothered to move.

Vlad, for his part, fell into a nearby chair with his head in his hands. Dimitry felt for him. He was carrying the sole weight of teaching Anya _everything_. All that Dimitry had to contribute were things that Vlad had told him over the years, or facts he could scrounge up about the royal family through the books they used. Every little detail helped.

He settled into the couch, intending to lie there for the rest of their break. His eyes closed as he mentally tried to run through the movements they were learning. _One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three..._

A few minutes later the sound of a throat clearing broke his reverie. Dimitry’s eyes opened to see Anya, holding a glass of water and a slice of cheese out to him. She must have gone to the other room for a snack, and brought some back for him. That was… surprisingly thoughtful of her.

“Thanks.” he said, accepting the food. She just nodded, face closed off, and turned to go. “Hey, wait.” Dimitry sat up and made some room on the sofa. “You can sit here. It’s, uh… more comfortable than the chairs.”

She did. Dimitry couldn’t think of anything more to say about their dancing or their plans, and he didn’t feel like quizzing her on the Grand Duchess Anastasia’s royal lineage at this precise moment. They’d had enough of each other for the past day or so. Sitting in comfortable silence was a welcome reprieve.

He’d barely finished his snack when Vlad was on his feet again, calling for the dancing to resume immediately.

It… didn’t go any better. Despite Dimitry trying his best, it seemed like they’d gotten _worse_ after their break. Anya kept tugging on his hands and trying to direct their turns a beat before or after he did. He kept stumbling, and trying to spin her the wrong way. They were hopelessly out of sync, and Vlad’s voice was growing progressively higher in tone as his frustration grew.

“You’re doing it wrong.” Anya snapped. “It’s turn on the third beat, not the second.”

Dimitry scowled. “It’s turn on the first beat, and that’s what I’ve been doing, your _highness._ ”

“It isn’t. You have no idea how any of this works!”

“Oh, and you do?”

“Of course I do!” Anya’s brow furrowed, and she began to lead them into a turn. On the third beat. Again. This time, Dimitry resisted her pulling and staunchly continued the open box to its resolution; then tried to spin her on the first beat, but was met with an unwavering arm and a blue-eyed glare. He glared right back.

“You’re a terrible dancer.” Anya stated.

Dimitry scowled. “Perhaps you’d like to dance alone, instead.”

He’d already tried to pass her off to Vlad, but their friend wasn’t having it. It was, he said, much more difficult to teach someone when you were dancing with them. You couldn’t see what they were doing wrong. Dimitry wondered if Vlad regretted that decision now that he’d seen how bad they were together.

Anya smiled a smile that didn’t go anywhere near her eyes, and when she spoke her voice was sickly sweet. “Anything would be better than dancing with _you._ ”

Dimitry was very much tempted to toss their hands up and storm off, leaving her and Vlad to figure this out on their own, but that would mean admitting that Anya had outlasted him, and he wasn’t willing to admit defeat quite yet. He and Anya just stood there for several seconds, silently fuming.

Finally, Vlad threw his hat at the wall and yelled in frustration. “Both of you are _hopeless!_ ” he cried.

Anya stepped back from Dimitry’s grasp, folding her arms in a fierce pout. “It’s not exactly _easy_ to keep all of these things in mind at once! Pivot turns and box-twinkles and inside turns and outside turns and golden rolls are all mixing together in my brain! They’re stupid moves, stupid names, it’s a lot to think about, and all of this shouting _isn’t making it any easier!_ ”

It was obvious from the view over her head that Vlad was getting himself under control with great effort. Dimitry tried to conceal a smile. _He_ was frustrated with Anya, but that wasn’t exactly unusual. What was rarer was seeing Vlad lose his composure. It was incredibly gratifying to not be the sole target of Anya’s ire, nor the sole recipient of Vlad’s chiding.

A few seconds passed, while Vlad took several deep breaths and Anya made a slow revolution from facing Dimitry to facing Vlad, in the other direction. Finally, Vlad spoke, obviously taking great care with his words. “Anya… Dimitry. I do believe we have been going about this the wrong way.”

Dimitry privately agreed. “What do you have in mind?” Anything was better than this.

His rather frazzled friend came to stand by them. “First, I want you to forget everything I’ve taught you.”

 _“What?_ Vlad-”

_“You can’t be serious-”_

Vlad held up both hands. They both fell silent. “Trust me, my friends. This _will_ be better. Now,” he positioned both of them in front of each other once again, “grab each other’s hands. There. Now close your eyes. Yes, you too, Anya.”

They obeyed.

“Dimitry, walk forward, starting with your left foot. Anya, you will begin backward with your right. Eyes _closed,_ Dimitry! Keep walking… and now, change directions. Dimitry walks backward, Anya forward…. Good! Both of you are capable of walking. I was beginning to _wonder…_ ” That final part was under his breath. Dimitry smiled. Poor Vlad. “And… reverse! Now stop. Both of you, think of the feeling in your hands when you changed directions. Each of you tugged a little when it was your turn to go backwards. Do it again, and tighten your arms slightly. Even when you are going forward, resist the pull a bit. It will make it easier. It _will,_ Anya, don’t look at me like that. Remember to stand up straight. And… go!”

Dimitry focused on their hands, on his only connection to Anya. Vlad was right. There was the slightest pull when Anya walked backwards, one he wouldn’t have noted if he didn’t know to look for it. He was much more aware of her than he had been before, and when Vlad cried out “REVERSE!” suddenly in the middle of their walking, Dimitry tugged back in surprise.

And Anya followed.

That was the very first time they’d moved in sync this entire time. Dimitry’s eyes flew open in surprise, to find Anya staring at him, eyes wide.

Vlad huffed. “What are you doing? Keep going, keep going!” Both of them hastily closed their eyes and kept walking, but Dimitry noticed something… different, now. It was easier to move together. They made several passes before Vlad was satisfied that they’d grasped the basics. Their eyes opened once more.

“The two of you, bless you, are the most stubborn people on this planet.” he said, peering at them sternly over his glasses. “And you think far too much. Both of you.

Dancing is not _thinking._ It is _feeling._ ” It was clear that Vlad had many feelings on the subject. Dimitry braced himself for a monologue.

Vlad didn’t disappoint. Arms thrown out wide, he spoke. “The energy of life is everywhere! It is in the air that we breathe, the way that we speak! It’s everywhere at once, all around us, if we only grasp it and feel it for ourselves. Dancing is one way that we _experience it!_  We take that movement that’s already there and channel it in ourselves. We _feel it._ And you must feel it in yourselves, in each other, to dance effectively! Close your eyes once again.”

They did.

“Now breathe, my friends, imagine every thought and feeling flowing through your hands into each other. You are not two people; you are one. When you dance, you must flow as if of one mind. You must be able to communicate without speaking. Feel each other’s heartbeats. Find common ground, even if it is only when you dance.”

Dimitry tried. The slightest tightening in his hands told him Anya was trying as well. He squeezed back in solidarity. This was a little odd, but Vlad was a little odd, and he _had_ been trying to teach them the technicalities for… hours now. They owed him this, at least.

Anya didn’t stop squeezing his hands, even after several seconds. Dimitry tried to picture his frustrations, exhaustion, stress, flowing through his fingertips into Anya’s through their clasped hands. Maybe she would stop hating him if they could accomplish this one thing together.

Oddly, Dimitry felt calmer. Now seemed as good a moment as any to start moving. Very slowly, his right hand slid up her arm to settle on her back, holding her shoulder blade with gentle pressure. Throat dry, and inexplicably nervous, Dimitry lifted their hands. Anya felt his cue, and stepped closer. He heard her inhale suddenly. Dimitry wondered what her expression might be, yet was reluctant to peek. It seemed that they were finally on the same page, in this fragile moment, and he was loathe to break whatever spell they were under. _Don’t just rest your hands on her. Hold her._

Eyes still closed and heart in his throat, Dimitry took a step.

Vlad had fallen silent at some point. He didn’t count out the beats to their waltz, but it didn’t matter. Dimitry could practically hear his endless mantra of _One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three…_ running through his head. He used that silent prompting to step into an Open Box.

 _One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three…_ An entire revolution brought them back to where they began. And again. A third time, and Dimitry added in the spin they'd never been able to pull off. Now, it seemed to flow like breathing. She spun so tightly that she barely left his arms at all, and he felt her shoulder brush his chest along the way. When their third revolution came to a close, they paused. Dimitry was breathing hard, feeling like he’d accomplished much more than the simplest of dance movements. He felt elated. Victorious.

Anya’s voice was soft. “That… was _good._ ”

Dimitry grinned, eyes still closed. “Don’t sound so surprised. Did you have so little faith in us, Your Highness?”

“I was beginning to wonder, yes. But….” her voice trailed off, prompting him to open his eyes at last. The brightness of the room shocked him, for a moment. Everything was thrown into the sharpest contrast. Anya’s blue eyes were fixed on him. How long had she been looking?

“Yes?” he prompted.

Those eyes blinked, as if coming back to the present. He wondered how far away she’d been, and what that look on her face meant. “We should do it again.” was all she said.

Dimitry wanted to say something, maybe ask her a question or compliment her newfound grace, but he couldn’t seem to form thoughts into words. Anya’s eyes were so very blue.

He nodded. Hands raised and posture regained, Dimitry focused once again on the feeling of push-and-pull between them. They travelled the same steps as before, and this time was even easier. He was tempted to close his eyes again, to savor the feeling of the dance, but when he realized that Anya already had, he found himself wanting to watch her instead. She looked… entranced. Though her eyes were closed, her expression spoke volumes. It was a look of wonder, open and honest and innocent. Something about it hurt his chest.

Like a light had been switched on, Dimitry and Anya were finally able to do all of the things that Vlad had been trying to teach them that day. There were turns and spins and gliding steps, and they flowed through them nearly perfectly. None of it was actually very complicated, now that they were working together.

Anya giggled, eyes fluttering open during a lull in their dancing.

Dimitry tilted his head questioningly. “Anya?” She wore such a huge smile… what was she thinking about?

“Oh, sorry. I was just… I realized that I’ve been really stubborn. Maybe we shouldn’t argue so much. I think we make a good team when we’re getting along.”

Well, that was a far cry from _You’re a terrible dancer_ and _Anything is better than dancing with you._ It was also, possibly, the first halfway nice thing she’d said to him.

Maybe she didn’t hate him after all.

He didn’t know what to say to that. Dimitry smiled, and spun her rather than answering.

Anya followed, chuckling. Her smile was so bright it made his breath catch in his throat.

It was moments like this that Dimitry thought about that little girl he’d seen once, hopelessly far from him in a carriage, but smiling at him anyway. He’d felt the same awe then that he felt now. But she was gone. She’d been murdered, he knew that. It wasn’t possible that they were the same person. It wasn’t.

And yet.

Anya still smiled, and his heart still hurt. She stepped in, and without thinking Dimitry mirrored her. Something told him he’d be doing that a lot from now on. They finally understood each other, and he wasn’t going to let that slip away. After so long being constantly at odds, Anya’s smile suddenly felt like something precious and golden, to hold close to his chest and never let go of. He’d dance with her every day if it brought that smile back.

A loud throat-clearing shocked them both. Vlad had sat some dozen feet away, and was now looking bemusedly at both of them. He cleared his throat a second time, and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He tried again. Still, silence. Finally he just stood and flapped his hands at them.

“Just… keep practicing. I need vodka if I’m going to deal with the two of you any more.”

Dimitry and Anya turned back to each other, both grinning ear to ear. They were still quite close, faces only a few inches apart. It was scene he wished he could remember forever. His adrenaline, her smile, their success. They could do anything in that moment.

So, they danced.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! I've never written Anastasia fanfic before, and it's been ages since I wrote anything at all. I'd really appreciate the feedback.
> 
> Also, my tumblr is [ wearebabygroot](http://wearebabygroot.tumblr.com). Come give me a shout if you ever want to scream about musicals, or anything at all.


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